


¡Golazo!

by coolbyrne



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Rizzoli & Isles |, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy versus England. Jane versus Maura. Oh, it’s on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	¡Golazo!

TITLE: ¡Golazo!

AUTHOR: coolbyrne

RATING: T (for language)

SUMMARY: Italy versus England. Jane versus Maura. Oh, it’s on!

A/N: Just in time for the World Cup! I was going to leave the ending as a cliff-hanger until I found out the actual score, then write an ending to match. Then I was going to write three different endings, and let you pick the chapter according to the result (Italy winning, England winning, or a draw). But then I just decided to go for England winning. The joke Jane shares with the officer refers to England’s last victory over Germany, which was a 5-1 pasting in Munich back in 2002. It’s often a chant English fans yell against Germany- “What time is it? 5 to 1!” Give the English their small victories – they haven’t won the World Cup since ’66. Thanks to RomanMachine, who has already forgotten more about footie than I will ever know.

…..

“Jane!” Frankie’s voice bellowed from the living room.

She dashed away from her snack bowl prep and darted into the room. “The game’s not supposed to start for another 20 minutes!” She stopped dead in her tracks and followed the accusatory finger-pointing from her brothers. When her eyes landed on the object of their silent judgement, she shook her head.

“No. No, no, no,” she said, though not to her brothers. Standing before her in the crisp white jersey of England, Maura smiled. “No,” Jane repeated. “You can’t wear that.”

The blonde was puzzled. “Why not? I thought wearing the uniform of one of the teams was part of the sporting experience.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed from the couch. “But not that one.”

Maura tilted her head. “I still don’t understand.”

“Well, Maura, ‘Rizzoli’. That’s Italian,” Jane explained. “When you watch a soccer game involving Italy, you wear an Italian jersey.” She turned and showed her back. “See? ‘Maldini’. Frankie!” The brother turned his back. “‘Pirlo’. And Tommy wishes he had the charm of ‘Cannavaro’.”

“Well, Jane,” Maura parrotted, “‘Isles’. That’s English. And when I’m watching a football match,” she stressed the term, “in front of my flat screen TV, I think I can wear whichever country I choose.” She playfully raised an eyebrow and Jane conceded the point.

“Yeah, okay, fine. Do you have a name on the back?” she asked cautiously.

“I do!” Maura eagerly spun around to proudly show her allegiance.

The three Rizzolis let out a collective sigh of relief. “‘Gerrard’,” Frankie said. “That’s okay, then.”

Maura frowned. “I can’t keep up with these rules that seem to be arbitrarily imposed. You just finished telling me a shirt of the opposition wasn’t allowed, but now you’re clearly accepting my choice.”

“Your choice of player,” Jane corrected.

“It’s like, I don’t hafta like the team to respect the player,” Tommy piped up.

“Right,” Frankie said. “So England, not so much. But Gerrard’s class, so that’s okay.”

“At least it’s not Rooney,” Tommy snorted.

Maura’s eyes darted from brother to brother, then up to their sister. “Now we’re quantifying levels of respect for players.”

Jane smiled at the growing confusion. “Okay, for instance, you can’t like Portugal, but you can respect Figo, but not Ronaldo.”

“Don’t support Holland,” Frankie said, “but Cruyff’s okay so long as you hate Robben.”

“Technically, it’s the Netherlands,” Maura corrected.

“And forget anyone on the French team,” Tommy warned.

“Except Zidane,” Jane smiled.

“2006!” The three siblings cheered in unison and high-fived each other.

“Oh,” Maura said, “you’re referring to the red card in the final that removed Zinedine Zidane from the game. He head-butted Marco Materazzi for derogatory things that were said about his sister.”

“Hey!” Frankie protested. “No one knows what was said.”

“Mr. Materazzi admitted he called Zinedine’s sister a prostitute,” Maura replied.

“I’d probably head-butt someone for calling my sister a prostitute,” Tommy admitted.

“Doesn’t matter.” Frankie dismissed the accusation with a weak wave. “We won the World Cup that year; that’s all that matters.”

Chuckling at Frankie’s discomfort, Jane tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen. “C’mon,” she said to Maura, “you can replace half the Chex Mix with something healthy.”

…..

“So Maura,” Frankie said as he grabbed a handful out of the snack bowl, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into soccer.”

“Oh, I became well acquainted with it when I was in boarding school,” she replied with a smile.

“I didn’t think your fancy all-girls school would lower themselves to the common man’s game,” Jane smirked.

“They didn’t. But I shared a room with a girl whose father played professionally. And, despite his fame, you’re right,” Maura said, turning to Jane, “it is a common man’s game. She didn’t fit in because of her background and I didn’t fit in because I was me.”

Jane reached over and squeezed her arm. “Aw, Maura.”

The blonde shook her head and waved her hand, brushing aside Jane’s concern. “Oh, it’s fine. We were very good friends because of it. I helped her with her biology and she taught me everything I ever wanted to know about ‘footie’,” she said, using the colloquilism with ease.

“Well, Italy has forgotten more about ‘footie’ than England will ever know, so be prepared for a beatdown.”

“Considering the game was invented in England, Jane, I find your attempt at…,” she glanced at Tommy.

“Smack talk,” he helpfully supplied.

“Yes, smack talk,” she beamed. “I find your attempt at smack talk a desperate attempt to cover your concern that your beloved _Azzurri_ are going to lose.”

Both Tommy and Frankie jumped into the conversation with exclamations of mock outrage.

“You gonna let her say that, Janie?” Tommy asked in disbelief.

“You can’t let that slide,” Frankie agreed.

Jane chucked and nodded. “Okay, Ms. Footie. Looks like I’ve been nominated to defend my country’s honour.” Clapping her hands together once, she said, “So what do you want to bet?”

Maura narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? A wager?”

“Yes, dear girl,” Jane replied, trying an English accent on for size, “a wager.”

“As long as we’re not talking a duel at dawn, I’m open for anything.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna put it that way, I’m in,” Tommy piped up.

Jane tossed a pretzel at her brother’s head. “Knock it off.” Back to Maura, she said, “How about we leave it open for now and decide after Italy win?”

“Only if you want to wait that long to find out what you’ll owe me when England thrash your Italians.”

“Oh, it’s on, Isles!”

Maura turned to look at the TV. “Oh, you’re right, it is.”

Jane was about to correct her when the blonde’s phone rang. Jane glanced at Maura, then to the phone, and back to Maura again. “Why are they calling you on your day off?”

Maura reached for the phone and sheepishly admitted, “I didn’t. Take the day off, I mean.”

Eyebrows reaching her hairline, Jane leaned forward and tilted her head, as if she hadn’t heard right. “Pardon?”

The doctor held up a hand as she answered the call. “Dr. Isles.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Is Dr. Pike not available?” Silence. “Oh, I see. I suppose I’ll be right there. Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Jane repeated.

“I thought my chances were good that I could have at least 90 minutes plus injury time without getting called in.”

Jane shrugged. “Looks like you were wrong, Dr. Isles.”

Maura stood. “Give me five minutes to get ready. I’ll be right down.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

The brunette shook her head. “Not a chance. I, along with these two smart guys here,” Tommy and Frankie silently raised their hands, “booked the day off to watch 90 minutes plus injury time plus beer. I’ll text you the score.”

Maura looked down at her hands, fingers gracefully clasped together. Her hair fell in front of her face and she gave a defeated sigh. “Okay. I suppose it’s only fair that I have to go while you three stay here and watch the game on my TV, that I bought specifically for sporting events like this.” She sighed again and pushed out her bottom lip.

“Damn,” Tommy said from the end of the couch. “I’ll go with you, Maura.”

Jane flapped her hands in front of his face. “Just… stop! She’s doing that to make you feel bad.”

“Badly,” Maura automatically corrected.

“Oh,” Tommy replied, looking relieved. “She’s good!”

“Yeah, she is,” Jane whispered. She covered her eyes with the heels of her hands and gave a sigh of her own. She recognized the tactics, but had no defense against them. “Fine,” she said at last, slapping her hands on her thighs. Standing, she growled, “You have five minutes before I come to my senses.” The blonde hopped once in delight and ran towards the stairs. Displeased with how little her mood seemed to affect Maura, Jane yelled out, “If we’re not back by halftime, you’re on your own!”

…..

“England, huh?” the on-duty officer said when the two women arrived.

Maura looked down at her shirt and lamented having told Jane five minutes, when she knew full well it would take her at least 15 to even approach her usual standards. So there she stood, at a crime scene no less, in a grey pencil skirt, black Jimmy Choos… and a white England jersey. She covered her discomfort with a practiced smile. “I thought everyone would be home today watching the game.”

He tapped his name badge. “Not today.”

“Ah,” Maura said. “You’re well-named. ‘Friedmann’ means ‘peacemaker’.”

Jane looked up from her phone and asked, “What time is it?”

The officer frowned. “About 10 after 6. Why?”

She shrugged and winked. “I thought it was 5 to 1.”

He groaned but good-naturedly laughed, “That was fuckin’ 13 years ago, Rizzoli, Jesus.” With a jerk of his chin to her attire, he said, “Keep your eye on your own team.”

She held up her phone, wagging it back and forth. “I’m trying.”

Maura spun around. “You’re watching the game?”

“No, just checking the score.” Jane tilted her head towards the taped off area. “Don’t you have a crime scene to check?”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

She let her head fall back. “Fiiine. But you’d better speed this up.”

…..

“Don’t worry,” Jane immediately said when she saw the look of disapproval from Detective Crowe. “I’m only here as the driver.”

The burly man snorted and sneered down his nose. “What? You think I’m an idiot?”

“Yes!” Jane replied with a fist in the air. Raising her head from her phone, she saw the looks of the small group and coughed. “Italy just scored.” Her screen lit up and she swiped the surface with her thumb. “Frankie’s losing his mind. It was a Pirlo free kick.”

Maura let out a quiet “Hmph,” and proceeded to the deceased, a prone male sprawled beside a bicycle and a pool of blood.

“Looks like the guy hit the tree with his bike,” Crowe informed her. “The old couple over there were walking their dog. Claim to have seen the whole thing.”

She carefully weighed and measured the scene, soaking up the factual information available to her. Though CSRU would take plenty of pictures for evidence, she pulled out her phone and took a few of her own. While she was never prone to guessing, there was certainly enough evidence to hypothesis the events that led to the man’s death. “Where’s his helmet?”

Crowe shrugged. “Didn’t find one. Probably explains why his brains are all over the cement.”

“Whoo!” Maura exclaimed and immediately realized her faux pas. “My apologies,” she said to those around her. “That was extremely unprofessional.”

“England!” a uniform shouted from the other side of the police tape.

“Seems to be contagious,” Jane glowered. “And I’m going to have a talk with Frankie about being a double-agent.”

“Oh, no,” Maura replied, referring to her phone. “It’s Tommy. He says he feels bad about you and Frankie ganging up on me. That’s so sweet, I won’t even correct his grammar.”

“Yeah, sickly sweet. Look, can we wrap this up or what?”

“Yeah,” Crowe echoed, “can we wrap this up? I got a cold one waiting for me at home.”

Jane couldn’t resist. “Hell of a way to talk about your wife, Crowe.”

Attempting to diffuse the situation, Maura stood back and signalled an assistant to finish processing the body. “Have it ready for a Monday examination,” she told him as she snapped off her latex gloves. “We’re done, detectives.”

…..

The ride back to Maura’s was a tense one, if only because the women were intently checking and refreshing their phones for any bit of news, any chance of a change in score. The game was tied 1-1, and due to the block of traffic that didn’t seem to move no matter how much Jane yelled, it was well into the second half. Competition between the two had frayed nerve endings and the silence was electric.

The moan and the murmur were simultaneous.

“Fuck!” Jane added to her contribution.

Lifting her hair up off her neck, Maura turned in her seat. “Is there something on my back?”

Jane glanced over and saw the twitch of amusement pull at the corner of Maura’s mouth as the woman lightly tapped the name stitched between her shoulder blades. “Oh, ha ha! I thought you were serious.” She returned her attention to the road. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You’re all sweet and ‘what’s that word, Tommy? Oh yes, smack talk. Thank you so much’,” she imitated in a high soft voice. “Then when we’re alone in the car, I get nothing but shade.”

Maura frowned, though the smirk remained. “I’m not sure I understood half of what you just said, Jane.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it went right over your head, Ms. Look Who Just Scored Oh He’s On My Jersey.”

The blonde patted Jane’s thigh. “Don’t worry. Maybe the player on your shirt will score for your team.”

“Maura, Paolo Maldini retired in 2002.”

“Well,” she slyly suggested, “perhaps your team should consider asking him to come back.”

“See?!” Jane shouted to the car in front of them. “This is what I’m talking about. Shade!” When she saw the blonde’s smile fall, her eyebrows went up and she let out a loud whoop. “Yes!”

“How did you know?”

Jane winked. “You’re not the only one who can read faces. Who scored?”

“Balotelli,” she answered flatly.

“Super Mario!” Jane crowed. She saw a familiar turn and took a sharp right. Three minutes later, she screeched into the parking spot outside of Maura’s home. “Last one in cleans up the dishes!”

“Hey!” Maura objected, her tight skirt and high heels conspiring against her. She didn’t even bother to run. Finally reaching the door, she closed it behind her and smiled at the sight of the three siblings hunched together on the couch, hands in prayer. Perching on the arm of the nearby chair, she joined them in their silence.

The five added minutes of injury time seemed to take twice as long, and yet it ended incredibly quickly. A moment frozen in time. One half of the stadium erupted in joy, and a quarter of those present in the Isles household relished the turn of events. Three heads turned to a very smug Maura Isles who didn’t make a sound, instead showing her reaction by raising her hands and pushing them above her head.

“Ah-ha!” Jane pointed at the rare glimpse of bragging from the blonde. “Raising the roof, Maura? Really?”

Frankie flopped back onto the couch and Tommy bent forward, head in his hands. “Shit,” the youngest brother moaned. “We needed to win that game.”

“Even a freakin’ draw!” Frankie said. “Now we got Uruguay and Suarez is gonna tear us a new one.”

“Forget Italy,” Jane lamented, “I’ve got a bet to pay up.”

Again, all three siblings turned their attention to Maura. To her credit, she refrained from rubbing in the victory. There was such a thing as good sportsmanship, after all. However, Jane’s reminder of their wager did bring a glint of amusement to her eyes. With a curl of her index finger, she invited Jane over to the chair to discover her fate. The brothers leaned forward, straining to hear, though their efforts would be for naught. Maura brought her lips to Jane’s ear and covered her mouth with her hand. Something was whispered, something that coloured the brunette’s face 20 shades of red. Without a word spoken aloud, Maura gracefully slipped off her perch and made her way upstairs. All three Rizzolis watched her go.

Tommy was the first to speak. “Holy shit, Jane, what did she say?”

“I, uh,” she pointed her thumb in the direction of the stairs, “I gotta go. She wants me.” Jane heard the words and quickly back tracked. “I mean, she wants me to do something.” That didn’t sound any better. “Just… never mind. Don’t be here when I come back down.”

The second their sister was out of sight, Tommy turned to Frankie. “What just happened?”

Frankie blinked a few times, as if clearing his head. “I dunno, Tommy. But why do I think that Italy losing somehow turns into Jane winning?”

….. end


End file.
